


A Risk Worth Taking

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson reminisces on his relationship with Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Risk Worth Taking

I entered our lodgings at 221b Baker Street to find Sherlock Holmes sitting on the couch reading. He glanced up at me then went back to his book, but in that quick look, I saw something in his eyes. After a mere moment's hesitation, I turned the key in the lock, and placed the key in my pocket. While Holmes got clients at all hours of the day and night, there was no reason for our door to be open; they could always knock.

Crossing the room, I went to the windows. It was a chilly November, and they were closed against the cold. Still, I pulled the curtains, blocking our room from prying eyes.

Turning, I saw that Holmes was now looking at me, his book forgotten in his lap. Walking over, I picked up the bookmark Holmes had been using, then took hold of the book with my other hand. Holmes nodded, so I took the book and, after putting the bookmark in it, set it on the table.

Finally, I sat down on the couch next to my dear friend. Reaching forward, I took his long, nimble hands in my own. I admit to having no specific idea what I wanted, except merely to touch him. I felt his hands; the chemical stains and burns, the calluses from writing and playing violin, the various scars from all sorts of misadventures. 

Holmes gently pulled his hands from out of my grasp, then slid closer to me. I shivered a bit when he put his hands on my shoulders, but was willing to see what he had planned. Smiling, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine.

"My dear Watson," he said in a soft, loving tone.

"Holmes," I whispered back, in much the same manner.

Sitting back, Holmes looked at me with affection.

"Come to bed with me," he said softly.

I felt my cheeks go warm at this.

"I'll join you in a moment," I said.

With a nod, Holmes retired to his room. I lit a cigarette, poured myself a snifter of brandy, and sat in front of the fire, thinking.

~~~~~

It had begun shortly after Holmes' return. Between my joy at having him back and my grief at having lost my dear Mary, my emotions were rather in turmoil. In this state--and with the influence of not a small amount of alcohol--I had indulged in certain intimacies with my dear friend. The next morning, in a more sober frame of mind, I had been horrified by my actions. I threw myself into my practice, making no attempt to return to Baker Street.

In the midst of this confusion, a telegram arrived from Holmes himself; a short, simple note, stating he wanted to see me again. Seeing Holmes' name, even in the impersonal typeface of the telegram, sent a wave of longing through me. Closing my practice early that day, I went to see my dear friend, hoping we could put the previous week's unpleasantness behind us.

 

I was uncertain what I would encounter when I returned to Baker Street. What I did not expect was a delightful lunch prepared for Holmes and myself. The curtains were closed, and Holmes closed and locked the door behind me.

"Forgive me, Watson," Holmes said as he set the key on the table, "But this is a conversation I do not wish to have overheard or interrupted."

He indicated the food on the table

"Sit, eat. This will go better on a full stomach."

 

We finished our light meal, then Holmes pushed himself back from the table and regarded me thoughtfully.

"Watson," Holmes said finally, "I want to ask you a question." He indicated the door. "I assure you nothing you--nothing _we_ \--say will go beyond that door. And I will keep a completely open mind."

I knew what this was about. Still, I knew there was no avoiding it. So I nodded. "All right." 

Holmes nodded in return.

"Watson," he said with a concerned expression on his face, "why have you not come to visit?"

I looked away, knowing it would be hard to hide my shamed expression from Holmes' sharp eyes.

"After what I did Friday last, I... I thought you wouldn't want to see me again."

"Ah, I see," said Holmes.

Holmes moved closer to me.

"Watson," Holmes looked at me intently. "Do you think that you... imposed yourself on me?"

My stomach clenched.

"Holmes, I..."

"Oh, my dear Watson," said Holmes. "As you have noted on a few occasions, I possess a good deal more strength than my frame might suggest. And while I may have enjoyed my share of brandy, I assure you I was in control of my faculties, both mental and physical. So be at ease, Watson; there was no... imposition.

"To be honest," Holmes continued, "I originally thought you left as quickly as you did because you thought I had... imposed myself on you."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Oh, Holmes, no; I assure you, you did not."

Holmes smiled. "Yes, I thought as much. In thinking over the incident, it did seem that way. And the speed with which you returned to Baker Street when I asked you strengthened my hypothesis."

I nodded.

Holmes walked over and took his pipe from the mantle. Getting tobacco from the Persian slipper, he filled his pipe and lit it, then sat back down at the table with me. I took out a cigarette. Leaning over, Holmes offered me the bowl of his pipe. I lit my cigarette with the hot tobacco, then sat back.

We sat in silence for a moment. Then he turned to me. He had a look of trepidation on his face.

"Watson, I would like to ask you to indulge me for a moment."

"Of course."

"I want you to think about the... incident."

I was surprised by this request. I'd spent the better part of the week attempting to forget about what had happened, and now Holmes was asking me to remember. But surely there was some reason for his request?

"May I ask why?"

Holmes took a thoughtful puff on his pipe.

"I've been thinking about it, Watson. And despite my initial shock, I find myself wondering why it is that the... relations we engaged in are considered illegal. After all, I'm sure you'll agree that our actions harmed no one, and they could even be described as... enjoyable."

My cheeks warmed considerably at this; the memories I'd been trying to put behind me come back in a flood. 

"Holmes," I said at length, "what are you saying?"

"What I'm suggesting, Watson, is that I see no reason why we can't, if we choose... repeat the experience."

These words stunned me. One indulgence, done at the spur of the moment, could be excused. But to suggest we continue!

And yet, I could not stop thinking about Holmes' earlier comment, about how the experience had been enjoyable. If an activity was pleasurable to both participants, and hurt no one, what would be the harm in continuing? Still, it seemed so horribly indecent. Then, something occurred to me.

"But... we'd be breaking the law."

Holmes smiled at me. "This is true. But this is hardly the first time we would be breaking the law together."

I smiled, thinking of the time we had burgled Charles Augustus Milverton's house, with the plan of stealing from him letters which he was using to blackmail a young woman who came to us for help.

"True enough," I conceded. "But that was one incident. This would be... every time we... we... indulged, we would be breaking the law."

"Indeed," Holmes agreed, tapping the ash out of his pipe into the fireplace and putting more tobacco in. "We would have to be very cautious."

Holmes walked back over to the table. He gave me a look I'd never seen from him before. Sitting down, he reached out and rested his hands on mine. While the feeling of his hands on mine was quite pleasant, when combined with the subject under discussion, it unsettled me a bit. Though in retrospect, some of that was because my own feelings on the matter were so confused. I didn't pull my hands away from Holmes' grasp, but he must have sensed my apprehension.

"My dear Watson," said Holmes softly, pulling his hands away. He sat back. "Forgive me, Watson, I..." he shook his head. "Let us drop the matter."

Despite my hesitation, even then I found I didn't care for the idea of simply putting the matter behind us without considering the possibilities.

"Wait," I said, "This is... a new experience for me. Give me some time to think the matter over."

"Of course, my dear Watson, take all the time you need." Holmes gave me a warm smile. "And if do decide you wish to simply move on, I hope at least we can remain friends."

"Of course! My dear Holmes, your friendship is invaluable to me, and there is nothing you can do that will change that."

Holmes smiled and gently squeezed my hand.

"Come Watson; there's an exhibit of French art I wish to see. In fact I'm glad you returned in time for us to enjoy it together."

 

Over the next week, Holmes and I spent most a god deal of time together. During this time, I also gave thought to my relationship with Holmes. What he was proposing was daring and risky. Yet, the more I considered it, the more I found the idea appealing to me.

One evening, I walked from my practice to Baker Street. It was a rather far, but the walk gave me time to think over and finally settle in my mind what I wished to do about the situation between Holmes and I. 

I finally arrived at Baker Street to find that he was feeling particularly languid. Closing the door, I turned the key in the lock, and placed the key in my pocket. The I crossed the room and closed the curtains. My actions got Holmes' attention, and he sat up on the couch.

"Holmes," I said as approached him. As I did, I found the courage I'd been building up quickly leaving me. I, who had faced war and criminal masterminds, found myself standing in the centre of Holmes flat unable to express myself.

Holmes got to his feet and approached me.

"Watson," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. He took my hand and drew me to him. I felt my heart skip as he rested his forehead against mine. "My dear Watson," he said in nearly a whisper. "Shall we go to bed?"

"Yes," I whispered back.

 

I awoke to the sweet smell of tobacco. Sitting up, I saw Holmes sitting at his vanity smoking his pipe.

"Holmes?"

He turned to me. "Did I wake you?"

"It's all right," I said, moving to get out of bed.

"No, stay put," he said. "I'll rejoin you soon enough."

I nodded. "Are you all right?"

"Hmmm... just thinking things over."

I nodded.

 

A few minutes later, Holmes stood. "I'll return shortly."

When he returned, he seemed excited. He came and sat next to me.

"Watson," Holmes began, "You know I am not a fan of the softer emotions. Love, sentimentality... I have found little use for such things in my life.

"However, I have, as of late, found myself feeling... tenderness towards you."

"Holmes," I said softly. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."

Holmes looked away, clearly not used to showing such emotion. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a small box. Opening it, he showed me a signet ring with his family crest. 

"Watson," Holmes said, "There are no ceremonies for a relationship such as ours. But I hope that you'll accept my ring as a token of... of my affection for you." 

"Holmes," I said, holding out my hand. "I would be honoured."

Holmes smiled and took the ring out of its box. 

"Watson," he said, putting the ring on my finger, "I love you."

"Holmes," I said softly, taking his hand. "I love you, too." 

As I looked down at the ring on my finger, I considered what it symbolized. It was Holmes' way of making a commitment to me. And then and there, I decided to make a commitment to him.

"Holmes, I'm afraid I have nothing to give at this time you but myself." Squeezing his hand gently, I said, "I'm going to sell my practice and move back in with you." 

Holmes smiled at me. "I assure you, Watson, your continued presence in my life is the greatest gift I could receive."

~~~~~

I was filled with happiness thinking about that special night, the night my relationship with Sherlock Holmes changed in ways that were both frightening and wonderful. I got up and tossed my nearly-spent cigarette into the fire and set my brandy aside. Then, with a smile, I headed into Holmes'--to my lover's--bedroom.


End file.
